Foxbat (8 page)

‘I assure you, Colonel, that my staff correctly completed all the documentation before
the two MiG-25 interceptors left this station. You’ve seen it, all of it. If any mistakes were made, they must have occurred at Zaporizhia. I’ve never trusted that maintenance
facility. This isn’t the first time their record-keeping has proved less than adequate.’

Anatoli Yershenko looked across the desk at the officer commanding 524 IAP. Colonel Grigor
Adashev hadn’t actually obstructed his inspection team, but he certainly hadn’t helped much. And the colonel was now sweating slightly, which might be due to the heat pumping out
of two large radiators – rusty and wheezing but undeniably effective – bolted to the walls either side of his desk. Or might there be another reason?

‘So you say, Colonel, so you say.
My
problem is that I’ve talked to Zaporizhia, and the officer I spoke to insists there’s no record of either aircraft in their
database over the last six months.
Your
problem is that your recorded squadron strength isn’t matched by the aircraft currently
parked in your hangars, and you don’t need me to tell you how serious that could be.’

‘It’s just a paperwork problem,’ Adashev blustered, returning to the tune
he’d been playing since this interview began. ‘The fault lies at Zaporizhia, and if you do your job properly that’s where you’ll go next.’

Yershenko shrugged. Ultimately, it wasn’t his problem anyway. He’d simply write up
his report of the inspection, highlight the discrepancy and pass the buck to Moscow. But he would certainly visit the maintenance facility. The colonel might be right and, if only for the
sake of completeness, the inspection team would have to investigate his claim.

‘We’ll be flying straight to Zaporizhia when we leave here.’

Adashev nodded. ‘You might like to send a preliminary report through our communication
facilities?’

‘No thank you. Until we locate those two missing aircraft, it would be premature to
contact Moscow. I’ll file a complete inspection report once we’ve checked the records at Zaporizhia.’ And he could have added: I’ll file my report when there’s
no possibility of it being altered or delayed. In fact, he’d already telephoned his superior in Moscow with a brief outline of what had been discovered at Letneozerskiy.

Adashev stood up and extended his hand across the desk. ‘I probably won’t be seeing
you again, Colonel, so I’ll say goodbye now.’

After a moment’s hesitation, Yershenko shook it, then turned and left the office.

The moment the door closed behind him, Adashev made a three-minute phone call to a trusted
subordinate.

In a third-floor conference room at the National Intelligence Service headquarters at
Naegok-dong, two men in shirtsleeves sat either side of a long table. Between them was a professional-quality reel-to-reel tape recorder hitched to an external amplifier and a pair of small
speakers. A cassette player would have been far more convenient, but Bae Chang-Su – the autocratic head of the NIS – had insisted on the best possible audio quality, and that
meant using the original tape and the Revox.

They’d played the recording four times already, and Bae knew they’d soon have to
make a decision about what to tell the Americans.

‘What did his previous reports contain?’ he asked.

Kang Jang-Ho was Bae’s direct subordinate and also Yi Min-Ho’s briefing officer,
since the infiltration of the NIS agent into North Korea had been sanctioned at the highest level. He now referred to his notes.

‘He only made two brief calls, and there was nothing particularly significant in either.
Yi contacted us once to confirm that he’d landed, and again after he had established his observation point overlooking the airfield. His only concern was that he’d almost been
caught by an army patrol near Ugom, and he had the feeling they were deliberately waiting
for him. Their truck had been parked on the road without lights and drove straight
towards him as he came into view.’

‘Do you give any credence to his suggestion that they knew in advance?’

‘No, sir, I don’t. There’s always a heavy military presence in that area, so
I think he just ran into a regular patrol that spotted someone suspicious and gave chase. The other possibility is that North Korean radar detected the inflatable heading for the coast, but I
think that’s unlikely.’

‘Perhaps,’ Bae grunted. ‘What’s your assessment of the situation now? Is
Yi still alive?’

‘Probably not. His last message’ – Kang gestured at the tape recorder
– ‘suggests that he’s been captured at the very least.’

He referred to his notes again. ‘I’ve had the recording analysed by our technical
staff. First, it’s definitely Yi’s voice: the voice-print analysis is unambiguous. Second, he’s shouting and there are traces of panic in his voice, as he’s clearly
desperate to pass on a message to us. That could mean he was on the run. Third, there are the six shots heard at the beginning of the tape. Because of the volume of these explosions, the
technicians believe the weapon was fired close to the Kyocera, meaning they were fired from Yi’s own pistol, at whoever was pursuing him.’ Kang glanced at his superior before
continuing.

‘And, at the very end you can hear the sound of other, more distant, shots, immediately
before Yi’s transmission ends. They must have been fired by his pursuers, and we have to assume that one of the bullets damaged the satellite phone, because the signal disappears
immediately afterwards. We tried calling the unit several times over the next hour, but each time the system reported the Kyocera unavailable. It was then, following COMSEC procedures,
recorded as destroyed and the number barred. So we believe Yi must have seen something so important that he ignored standard operating procedure by breaking communications silence in an
attempt to call us.’

‘And what about the message he tried to pass on?’ Bae demanded.

Kang lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘All he says is that the North Koreans
have new aircraft – then he was cut off. We don’t know exactly what he meant by that, but must assume he saw something sufficiently unusual to risk calling us
immediately.’

For a few moments Bae stared at the Revox as if willing it to supply the answer. Then he
shifted his gaze back to his subordinate.

‘I’m not prepared to risk sending another agent across the border, so I think
it’s time to involve the Americans formally. We’ll just report what little we have, and see what they can do with their technical assets. Perhaps one of their satellites will be
able to identify whatever aircraft Yi observed at T’ae’tan, and then we’ll have a better idea what we’re up against.’

There are a lot of bars in the city of Perm, catering for everyone from the habitual drunk to
the purely social drinkers who have a need to be seen in the right place, at the right time, and with the right people. The Bar Sputnik fell somewhere between these two extremes. It was
located down by the Kama river, identified by an illuminated sign showing a silver ball with four trailing antennae – representing the first-ever Earth-orbiting satellite – and
with its tinted windows further darkened by years of tobacco smoke. Most of its clientele were working men, but with a sprinkling of young professionals: administrators, accountants and
lawyers in the main.

Stools topped with faded red leather faced the long wooden bar, booths with fixed wooden tables
lining the walls opposite, and a handful of tables and chairs occupied the open space just to the left of the street door.

At one of these tables, four men sat talking and drinking. One was young, maybe twenty-five
years of age, slim, with fair hair and blue eyes. Two of his companions were late middle-aged and, more typical of most of the population in the area, had dark hair, brown eyes, flat, almost
Slavic, features and bulky physiques. The fourth man, short, thin and somewhat older, looked almost oriental by comparison.

To any interested observer, the elderly man would have seemed the dominant personality. His name
was Ryu Chang-Ho and he’d arrived in Perm just over two weeks earlier. When he spoke, he was listened to
in respectful silence, and was clearly used to conducting
life on his own terms.

For the most part, their discussion appeared amicable, though when Ryu made a suggestion, the
other three quickly nodded agreement. But then the atmosphere at the table suddenly changed. Ryu leant forward and addressed the young man in a low, determined voice, and for the first time
Georgi Lenkov showed signs of dissent.

He shook his head firmly. ‘I will not do that,’ he replied in Russian. ‘I am
not a traitor.’

Ryu leant even closer. ‘I’m not asking you to do anything that would compromise
your country,’ he insisted. ‘All I’m doing is offering you a substantial reward in exchange for your professional services.’

Lenkov shook his head again. ‘No,’ he said loudly. ‘It’s more than that,
and you know it.’

Some of the other drinkers in the bar had turned at the sound of Lenkov’s raised voice and
were now looking towards the four men.

Ryu registered their interest, and motioned towards the door. ‘We’ll continue this
outside,’ he said, then stood up and walked out of the bar, with the other three following.

They crossed the street to the embankment skirting the south side of the river. Ryu there
produced a sheet of paper from his pocket and showed it to Lenkov. There were a number of figures scribbled on it, each prefixed by a US dollar sign, but no indication of what these sums were
for.

‘That,’ Ryu said, pointing to a figure towards the bottom of the page, ‘is
what I’m willing to pay if you agree to join us.’

Lenkov hesitated for a moment. The amount the man was suggesting equated to about five
years’ salary for him but there was, the young Russian had already deduced, far more to this than just cash. For one thing, he had no guarantee of ever receiving the money. It’s
one thing to be told what you’re going to be paid, but until the sum appears, it’s all just talk. And even if this odd little man did deliver on his promises, Lenkov could foresee
other obstacles to prevent him ever spending it, like getting a bullet in the head once his usefulness was over.

There were too many risks involved here, so he shook his head again,
decision made. ‘No, I won’t do it,’ he said firmly. ‘And I’ll have to report this to my superiors.’

Ryu’s eyes glittered dangerously in the fading daylight. ‘If you know what’s
good for you, you won’t do that,’ he hissed.

‘I’m not taking any orders from you,’ Lenkov snapped, then turned and strode
away.

The other two men looked at Ryu, awaiting instructions. ‘Follow him,’ he ordered.
‘I’ll go get the car.’

Fifty yards away, Lenkov glanced behind him. The two other Russians were following him, one on
either side of the road, as if ready to anticipate any turn that he made, while Ryu was walking briskly away in the opposite direction. For the first time a feeling of real apprehension
crossed the young man’s mind.

He began walking faster towards the centre of the city and away from the relative darkness of
the embankment. But his pursuers merely speeded up as well, easily keeping pace with him.

Behind him, he heard a car engine start, its headlights shining across his back as the vehicle
turned towards him. Perhaps he could thumb a lift, he considered briefly.

He looked back again but, as the vehicle headed towards him, it passed under a streetlight, and
he recognized the sallow features of Ryu Chang-Ho in the driver’s seat.

It was then Lenkov started running, his feet pounding loudly on the pavement as he desperately
sought sanctuary. When the lights of another bar beckoned, he skipped across the road, pushed open the door and rushed inside.

But even as he strode across the room, he heard the street door slam open behind him, and a
rough voice called out ‘Police! Stay where you are.’

Lenkov turned to see the same two Russians advancing towards him. One of them was holding up a
shield that looked remarkably like the double-headed golden eagle of the MVD, the Russian police.

‘Those aren’t cops,’ he shouted desperately, as he backed away towards the
smoky rear of the bar. But nobody was listening to him, as the sight of two men claiming to be MVD officers was quite sufficient incentive for them to all mind their own business.

They were on him in a moment, one man pinning him against the polished wood of the bar counter
while the other pulled his hands behind his back and snapped a pair of handcuffs around his wrists.

Lenkov kept shouting for help as they hustled him towards the door, but nobody in the bar so
much as looked at him. Outside, the car waited, Ryu still in the driver’s seat, the engine idling and the rear door already open. The two Russians pushed Lenkov inside, then climbed in
after him. The moment the door closed, the car drove away from the kerb.

‘Where are you taking me?’ Lenkov demanded in panic, but none of the three men
replied.

As they began heading out of Perm, Lenkov started yelling at the top of his voice and kicking
out at the men imprisoning him.

‘Shut him up,’ Ryu instructed briefly. One of the two burly Russians pulled a cosh
out of his pocket, as his companion forced the captive’s head forwards.

The cosh swung down in a short, vicious arc, smashing into the back of his skull. It
wasn’t sufficient to knock him out, but after the second blow Lenkov collapsed forward, unconscious, into the footwell.

Fifteen minutes later Ryu pulled the car to a halt by some thick woodland on the outskirts of
the city. ‘Bring him,’ he instructed, and led the way between the trees.

As they dropped him to the ground, Lenkov was beginning to regain consciousness. The first thing
he was aware of was rough hands emptying his pockets, taking his wallet, keys and loose change, and then unstrapping the watch from his wrist. He opened his eyes to see Ryu staring down at
him, a semi-automatic pistol in his right hand. The two Russian thugs stood by, watching with disinterest.

‘Wait,’ Lenkov said, desperation in his voice. ‘We can talk. I’ll do
what you want.’

Ryu stepped close to him and looked down. ‘The time for talking is over,
comrade
. You should have taken what we were offering at the time.’

Lenkov lapsed into shocked silence as Ryu cocked his pistol.

The bullet smashed into the young man’s face, just below his right eye, and he toppled
backwards, killed instantly. The sound of the shot was shockingly loud in the silence of the wood, and birds flew out of
the trees in panic, their wings beating an ironic
applause to the execution, while somewhere deeper in the wood a dog started barking.

Ryu stepped forward, rolled the body onto its side and removed the handcuffs from the wrists,
then the three men walked away without a backwards glance.

Seventy metres behind them, a middle-aged Russian peered cautiously from behind a tree, a dog
lead clutched in his hand. He’d heard, but not seen, the shot being fired, and the sight of the three men walking away had immediately caught his attention. He looped the lead around a
branch to stop his trembling dog from following him, then quickly made his way to the edge of the wood. Moments before he got there, he heard a car engine start, so he paused for a few
seconds. Then he heard a vehicle moving off, and began to run.

Some fifty metres in front of him, a grey saloon car was driving away, bouncing over the rutted
track as it headed towards the main road, but he couldn’t make out the digits on its number plate. As he walked back into the wood to fetch his dog, almost the first thing he came
across was the crumpled body of Georgi Lenkov.